Silent Secrets
by SHGreen
Summary: When Peeta is placed into foster care, he never expects to meet a Seam girl like her. One that will challenge everything he's ever thought about the Seam. But something about fiery Katniss Everdeen and her silence is impossible to just ignore. A/U
1. Chapter 1

Happy Holidays!

i just wanted to give you all a little New Years treat. I've been saving this story for weeks and am so excited to finally be sharing it!

This story has been stuck in my head and begging to be written for ages so let me know what you think!

—

Chapter 1

Peeta

Mrs. Trinkett, the guardian the foster care system assigned to me just last week, announced this morning that another kid would be joining us by this afternoon. She said it would be a girl and just a year younger than me— twelve.

I'm excited!

I guess I really shouldn't be excited. A girl being placed in foster care means she's probably had a hard life. Maybe even a life like mine— with beatings and broken bones and stitches.

No. I shouldn't be excited.

But I am.

I've been so bored here and so lonely. Even the last few months before Child Protective Services collected me I never felt quite as alone as I have this past week in this foreign house with eccentric Effie.

My father was working day and night at the bakery preparing for Christmas and my two older brothers moved out and got their own places back in the summer, but it was still home. Even through everything, it felt like where I belonged. It was what I was used to. It's what I've always known.

Effie's lace trimmed house is just too quiet. I've never felt so alone in my life.

I definitely feel safer though.

And I guess that's really the point. But Effie isn't much company.

She's a junior assistant at some designer clothing company. According to her, if she wants to move up to head assistant then she has to work some long hours to make a good impression. So I hardly ever see her.

Effie's nice enough. Very unique, a bit self centered, and a tad bit dense. But she seems like she means well.

Often since my arrival, I've wondered why Effie decided to foster. She doesn't seem the type—at all. She's constantly busy with work and a list of different community events and organizations she's involved in.

The only thing I can come up with is that one of the clubs she attends encouraged their members to take in a kid and she bought it. Because there is no other logical explanation why she would volunteer to bring troubled kids she doesn't know into her home.

I really do like her— once I got past some of her thoughtless comments and slightly snobbish attitude, that is. But her working long hours has me spending my days alone in her large eclectic house and I don't even have school to take my mind off of everything.

My case worker, Cinna, said that I would be returning to school after Christmas break. It would give me enough time for my bruises to heal and, if I'm lucky, even have my stitches removed. That way the other kids wouldn't look at me strange and ask uncomfortably questions.

At first I was grateful. I really didn't want to have to tell the story to all of my classmates. I didn't want to see their looks of horror or pity. I didn't want to hear the jokes about getting my butt kicked by a woman. I didn't want to have to tell them how strange it was spending Christmas break with a lady I'd never met before this week.

I didn't want to share that part of my life with anyone.

So, it definitely was a relief that I still had another week before school started back.

But after being bored alone in this puffy pink princess house with all its glittering glass trinkets, I'm beginning to really miss school. Besides, the bruises are almost entirely healed now. Only the row of stitches along my forehead remains, but they are almost entirely hidden by my bangs.

I really wasn't sure if I was going to make it in this silent house for another week.

But having someone my own age around here will be great. Having someone to watch shows with or play games with or maybe just talk to while Effie is at work every day would be such a reprieve from the silence of this empty shimmering house that feels nothing like home.

—-

That afternoon, Effie brings me shopping with her to prepare for the girl's arrival.

"You'd know what a teenager needs," Effie says excitedly. I'm not so sure I know what a teen _girl_ needs, but I don't object. I'm happy to get out of the house for a while.

On the car ride to the shopping center, Effie tells me everything she knows about her new placement— which isn't very much.

"Well, I know they're bringing a twelve year old girl. Which is good. I told them I can't take anyone under twelve. They have to be able to stay home alone. I have to work, you see." Effie yammers on. "I don't know anything about her family. They say she's a quiet one. Cinna says she's refusing to speak, so don't you go getting your feelings hurt if she won't talk to you."

"Cinna? Cinna's her case worker too?" I ask quickly, recognizing the name of my own kind hearted court appointed welfare agent.

"Oh yes!" Effie cries happily. "They were having a hard time placing her. Everywhere's filled up and most people want young kids! Kids under eleven! But Cinna remembered me from bringing you by last week... and he asked if I'd take one more."

_Take one more_. Like an extra shift at work or volunteering for one more fundraiser. I bite my tongue.

Effie doesn't mean it. Not really. She's just oblivious, but she is oddly likable, so I let it slide.

"You said she doesn't speak?"

"Hmmm," Effie hums. Her lips pursed in disapproval. "I guess maybe she's shy... or something..." Effie trails off oddly and I find myself wondering vaguely about the new girl and her silence.

What could cause a girl to go mute?

To choose to no longer speak?

—

At the store, Effie starts scooping up items from every aisle. Some stuff I would have deemed essential—like a toothbrush and shampoo— but most of the items were less of a necessity— like the pink fluffy slippers or the curling iron with the glittered handle.

In the clothing department, Effie starts loading the cart with every cringeworthy hot pink piece of attire the store has to offer. She holds up a pink ruffled romper and squeals.

"Oh my! This is adorable!"

I finally have to speak up.

"Ummm... do you think maybe we should wait until she arrives to get some of this stuff." I ask apprehensively.

"What?... why?" She asks. All big innocent eyes and ditzy ignorance.

"Well... I mean..." I'm thinking about my friends back at home. I couldn't see Delly or Madge wearing hot pink— much less having a wardrobe entirely made up of the color. "A teenage girl might not like hot pink..." my objection dies in my throat as I look at bleach blonde Effie in her aqua dress suit, hot pink sequined high heels, matching belt and pink lipstick.

She looks exactly like what a five year old would pick out for her Barbie doll to wear. I doubt she understands the concept of outgrowing certain colors and styles.

I just shrug, but Effie concedes.

"Yeah, maybe this is a bit much. I'll just get a few outfits for her for now..." She trails off as she starts putting some of the clothes she'd picked out back on the nearest rack. "I mean to say... I don't even know what size she is. I'm assuming small since she's from the Seam, but I'd hate to buy all this and be wrong."

"What...? The Seam?" I can't help but ask. The Seam is the poor side of town here in District 12. I've actually never met anyone from the Seam before.

I mean, I've seen Seam citizens before, but I've never known any of them by name.

I'm from the Merchant section— the richer side of town. I lived there with my family and helped with my families bakery up until last week when welfare pulled me from my life after my father brought me to the hospital.

The Seam and Merchant sections have different schools, different stores, and completely different cultures. Typically anyone from the neighboring societies avoid each other. I've always been warned of the high crime rates in the Seam and the dangers of associating with people from there.

My mother especially detests the Seam and their beggars that cross over into our Merchant section.

But then again my mother doesn't really like anyone.

"Oh I know..." says Effie, concern pinching her brows and creasing her forehead, "I'm not sure I would have agreed to take her if I'd know that either. But... well... I'm sure it will be fine." She says, sounding entirely unconvinced.

I frown slightly but let Effie's comment pass.

—

I pull back the ruffled pink curtains and peer out the large glass window lining the front of the living room to watch as the car pulls along the curb and parks out on the street.

It's an official looking car. All black, with tinted windows and shiny silver trim.

The exact same car that brought me a week ago.

It's rather surreal seeing Cinna step out in his perfectly tailored work suit. It's like dajavu but from a different vantage point.

Cinna moves around to the passenger side, where he collects a small back pack from inside the car and pulls it over his shoulder before squatting down to speak to someone in the back seat. He talks for quite a while, but no one else gets out of the car.

I find myself eyeing the little black backpack. Is that all she brought with her? It can't possibly have more than two or three winter outfits squeezed inside. No toys? No books? No personal belongings?

I think of the three large duffles I brought when I arrived. The rest of her stuff must be in the trunk— that can't possibly be all.

After several minutes, Effie gets impatient and excuses herself to go outside. I want to follow her, but now that it's actually time, I'm a little nervous about meeting this new girl. So instead, I stay where I am at the window.

Effie joins Cinna on the sidewalk. He whispers a few things to her and she hovers awkwardly beside the car.

My curiosity grows about this girl. According to Effie, she doesn't speak and we should be gentle with her. I find myself expecting someone fragile, beaten down, scared. Someone that's been through some horrific things. Someone that has to be treated gently. Someone I have to watch my words with.

I don't really mind. I've always been gentle. I got that from my father.

Finally, as I watch, a small girl climbs from the car. She keeps her eyes on Effie and Cinna, so I can't make out her face, but she is exactly what I've been expecting ever since Effie mentioned she's from the Seam.

She's a tiny little thing with the tale-tale Seam dark chestnut hair. Her arms are folded defensively across her chest and her overlarge clothes hang baggily off her small frame.

My first thought is that she looks small and weak— a fragile creature that needs to be treated delicately. She's so thin and tiny, I can hardly believe that we are close in age.

Cinna reaches out to touch her arm, but she moves quickly away from him. His hands raise in a reassuring gesture but she keeps her distance from both of them.

Finally, the group makes their way towards the house and the first thing I notice is that they didn't retrieve any other bags from the car. Just the backpack.

As they move closer, I can't take my eyes off of this new girl. Her starved appearance, threadbare clothes, and disheveled braid only reaffirms my initial impression of her as fragile.

Turns out, I am dead wrong.

When she passes over the threshold, her cold silver eyes immediately lock on me standing at the window. She pulls herself up tall and proud, her gaze is piercing, defiant and furious.

I feel my heart drum nervously against my ribs as she refuses to look away. Even with her disheveled appearance and deep scowl, she is strikingly pretty with high cheekbones, a blemish free olive complexion, dark chestnut locks and large mercury eyes.

She has the coloring of every Seam girl, but looks like no Seam girl I've ever seen before.

I find myself looking away nervously and can feel the heat on the back of my neck and ears.

"Well this is it! Come in. Come in!" Says Effie happily. "Sitting room here, kitchen over there," Effie waves enthusiastically. "Your bedroom will be down the hall.

"Oh, Peeta, come say 'hi'" Effie calls and I find myself moving forward apprehensively. "Peeta, this is Katniss! Katniss this is Peeta!" Effie trills, "You both will be like brother and sister!" Effie exclaims.

"Hi," I say, putting my hand out to her. Katniss face hardens and she stares at me, but doesn't extend her hand. I lower mine slowly, feeling rather awkward. "Well, ummm, good to meet you... I've never had a sister before." I give an awkwardly laugh. "Do you have any siblings?" Katniss face contorts with anger and before I even know what happened, she's dove at me.

Her hand claws across the side of my face and she lets out an animal like shriek as she shoves me backwards into the couch and we both topple onto it.

"No!" Screams Effie stricken.

I'm so startled I don't even have time to react before Cinna is pulling her off of me.

Cinna's arms are wrapped tightly around her middle, restraining her as she fights to get back to me. Nostrils flaring, eyes flashing savagely.

Cinna drags her out of the room and down the hall to the room Effie set up for her.

"Oh my dear!" Effie coos. She's so white that she looks like she might faint. "Are you alright? Oh my... you're bleeding!" She says furiously. I'm still stunned by Katniss' attack as I dazedly put my hand up to my cheek and feel the damp sting of the cut.

Effie insists on band-aids even though I try to wave her off.

I have absolutely no idea what I said or did to provoke her wrath.

I realize having this new girl— Katniss— in the house isn't going to be anything like I'd expected.

I don't like Katniss.

She is not a nice girl, and far from fragile or needing to be cared for.

—-

So, I've already written the first 7 chapters! What does that mean for you? If you leave me some reviews I'll get the next chapter up faster.

More Reviews = Faster Chapters *winks*

Seiously though, Please, please review! Your reviews are what makes the stories worth writing.

What did you think of our first glimpse of Katniss?

Oh and Effie? Do you think I did her character justice?

Did you love it? Hate it?

Thank you so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Yay! Another update!

I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone that took the time to review the first chapter and to PM me. You're feedback means the world to me.

Also, to answer a question I got... No, this story is not only about 12yr old Katniss&Peeta. They get older and things change. Stay tuned.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Katniss**

Cinna drags me backwards into a large brightly decorated bedroom. I've given up fighting but my heart is still pounding in my ears and my chest is excruciatingly tight as the anger pumps through my veins like poison.

Cinna puts me down on the edge of a large plush queen bed covered in an atrocious pink and lime green comforter embellished with lace and ruffle trim. I don't fight him as he takes a seat beside me. My breathing is still coming in rapid shudders from my outburst and my head is throbbing painfully with all of the emotions from today, but I keep my seat.

"Katniss dear, I know you're angry... and I know you're hurting, but you can't do this. You can't go attacking people. Peeta... Peeta didn't do this to you. This isn't his fault. He's struggling, just like you."

I look away from Cinna with the best passive, uninterested expression I can muster.

Even through my feigned indifference, I feel a sharp pang of remorse in the pit of my stomach for attacking Peeta. He didn't deserve that. He didn't mean to ask about my family. To ask about Prim.

Damn, I miss her.

My throat constricts and a lump the size of a golf ball forms, threatening to choke me.

Stop. Quiet. Don't cry.

I search through my thoughts to find something less painful to focus on and those piercing blue eyes surface to the forefront of my mind without my permission. Kind, gentle eyes and such an easy, confident smile.

I hate that I've hurt Peeta. I don't even know him. But Cinna's wrong about one thing.

Peeta's not struggling.

What on earth could a merchant boy know about struggling? I'm sure he's never gone to bed hungry. I'm sure he's never had the cops called on him for stealing food, so his baby sister doesn't starve.

He's never been judged just by his complexion. He's never survived the Seam. He's never spoon fed a mother that refused to feed herself.

Yeah, maybe he's lost his family— like me—and that's sad. But he's probably lived a soft life up until now. A life that I could only have dreamed of. Thirteen years of the best upbringing anyone could ask for.

I feel that rage towards Peeta bubbling just below the surface once again.

He knows nothing of my life. He knows nothing of me.

"Please just give them a chance. Effie and Peeta are good people."

Yeah, right. They're merchants. They wouldn't give me a chance if they didn't have to.

I don't acknowledge his words. I stare blankly at a baby pink trunk at the end of the bed until I hear Cinna give a small sigh.

"I'll be back next Tuesday to check on you, Katniss. And..." he pauses to reach to comfort me be I pull my arm sharply away and glare at him. He gives me a sad understanding smile that only makes me more angry. I don't want to be understood and I definitely don't want to be pitied,

"And when the investigations finished..." he continues "I'll... I'll handle all of the arrangements. You don't have to do anything at all. I'll give you an update on everything next week when I come to check on you. I'm really sorry Katniss." I have to look away from Cinna. I want to glare at him. To tell him I'm fine and it doesn't matter but it's taking every ounce of control not to cry— not to break.

"Just try to remember what I said about giving them a chance."

I refuse to look at him as he leaves. Anger still pulses through my veins at the injustice of this all.

I don't come out of my room. Not even when Effie comes by to say dinner is ready.

I lock the door, curl up under the hideous pink and lime green patterned duvet cover and get lost in my thoughts.

Somehow my thoughts keep spiraling back to the blue eyed merchant boy and the blonde waves that hang lazily around his eyebrows.

I try desperately to force him out of my mind. I don't want to know him or his story. I'm not here to make friends.

So why can't I get him off my mind.

—

Sleep evades me. I spend most of the night tossing and turning on the unfamiliar plush mattress beneath me and staring at the crack of light beneath the door to my room.

I hear Peeta tromp to the bathroom once sometime in the middle of the night, but other than his steady footfalls on the wood floors passing my door, the house is eerily quiet.

But still I can't sleep.

My heart hurts so badly in my chest that I think I may never be able to sleep again. This pain, this overwhelming loss, has surrounded me and constricts even my ability to breath. It's like constantly drowning but never reaching the comfort of actually letting go and dying.

And the more I try not to focus on my life the more I realize that I have nothing else in the world to draw my attention.

Sleep never does find me.

—-

The following morning, Effie knocks on the door for breakfast.

I ignore it.

Peeta knocks on my door to see if I want coffee, milk or juice.

I ignore it.

Effie knocks to say she's leaving for work and will be back by dinner.

I ignore it.

Peeta knocks to see if I'd like to watch a movie.

I ignore it.

I'm not planning on spending time with Peeta and Effie. Like one big happy family.

I don't want another family. I just want mine back.

I still can't comprehend the sudden change in my life. One minute I have a home and a family. I'm living my life in the same community where I was born. Familiar faces, homes, streets, and stores surrounded my little world.

Yes, maybe it wasn't the best life. We have struggled so much since my father's death seven months ago.

But it was home.

Then, suddenly, it's all snatched away. Everything I've ever known is gone. In the blink of an eye, my life has been turned upside down.

I didn't even have a moment to try to understand before I was being thrown into a house with strangers and expected to treat them like my brother and mother.

While I waited in the CPS office, after the police officers had taken my statement, one of the other welfare agents told me that I was terribly hard to place. She said that typically they tried to match Seam kids with Seam families so I wouldn't need to transfer schools. But every Seam family willing to foster was full. Or didn't want someone my age.

She said I should really appreciate Effie taking me in.

I'm a burden. I always have been.

That's why my mother gave up after my father's death. She couldn't face having to raise us.

* * *

So what did you think about finally getting a glimpse of what Katniss was thinking?

This was a short chapter to just introduce us to Katniss. I'll update another one soon.

Until then... review review review!


	3. Chapter 3

To all of you awesome reviewers out there THANK YOU!

Seriously though! I woke up after posting the last chapter and had SO MANY awesome reviews... so I decided you all needed a New Years present. Yay!

So who's ready to see what Peeta thinks of Katniss?

Happy 2020 everyone!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Peeta**

I had planned on trying to be her friend, but it's hard.

She avoids everyone at all times. She refuses meals, refuses showers, refuses to even leave her room except to use the bathroom.

Effie frets constantly over her refusal to eat and complains about her bad attitude, saying she has "atrocious manners". Effie goes as far as saying that if things don't change soon she will be asking CPS to take her away.

I'm not sure why, but I desperately want her to stay. I don't know anything about her at all yet, but I have so many questions. I want to know why she's here and where her family is. I want to know why she doesn't speak or eat.

But more than anything, I want to help her.

She isn't the fragile delicate girl I anticipated the day of her arrival, but she is broken. And even if she tries to prove otherwise, she's just a scared little girl that needs someone.

I wish she'd let me try to be that someone.

But right now she's not letting anyone be it, especially not me.

The second day after she arrived I ran into her in the hall on her way to the bathroom. I said "hi" to her as she passed me.

Her response was to lunge at me with her hands raised like claws and give a loud hiss just like an angry cat. Making me jump backwards in surprise.

She had darted down the hall and into the bathroom and all I could do is stare after her in shock.

She annoys me and intrigues me at the same time. I want to know about her. What makes her the way she is. But I also completely want to avoid her. Every time I'm near her she lashes out.

I don't see her again after meeting her in the hallway. She spends the rest of the afternoon in her room with the door locked. Skipping meals for the second day since her arrival.

That night, her second night here, I can't sleep. I lay awake in bed for what feels like hours and think of home... or what was my home. My stomach twists painfully just thinking about the life I've lost.

I miss home and my friends and school. I even miss the bakery and helping make all of the cookies and cakes and dropping off orders to nearby shops. But more than anything, I miss my dad.

The only good news is that after Christmas break I'll be returning to my old school. I'll get to see my friends again.

I'm nervous and embarrassed about having to tell them what happened but my closest friends, Delly and Madge already know a tiny bit about my home life. They've seen the bruises in the past. They've seen first hand my mothers temper on a rare occasion when they were at the bakery. They won't be very surprised by the news, I think wryly.

Suddenly, I hear a strange noise.

A tiny, pitiful whimper, like a small wounded animal. I sit up quickly and press my nose to the cold glass window, looking out into the dark moonlit yard for the source. I can't see anything below that could be making those sounds.

The whimpers grow louder and are followed by a heart-wrenching sob.

An unmistakably human cry.

But the sound isn't coming from outside. It's coming from down the hall.

Katniss.

The broken noises are coming from Katniss' room. I'm too stunned to move. Every time I've seen Katniss over the last two days she's seemed fierce and angry. But those quiet whimpers are something altogether different. I've never heard anything so gut wrenchingly broken in my life.

She sounds more like a frightened child than an almost teenage girl.

As I sit frozen in bed, listening, the crying grows louder— desperate.

Then suddenly, a girl's ear piercing scream shatters the night making me jump so bad I almost fall into the floor. I bolt panic-stricken out of bed. That scream— that awful scream— makes every hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

I race quickly towards the door, my heart beating frantically inside my chest.

When I reach her room, she has quieted slightly, but I can still hear the small tiny whimpers through the closed door. I try the knob, but it's still locked.

I want to go find her, to make sure she's okay but with the door locked between us I don't know what to do. And something keeps me from knocking. Maybe it's knowing that she would never let me in. Maybe it's that she does scare me a little bit.

Whatever it is that stops me— I'm not quite sure. But, all I can do is stand there frozen in the hallway.

Listening to the most heart breaking noises I've ever heard in my life.

—-

The following morning, I'm exhausted. I'd laid awake for hours after Katniss had fallen silent.

Wondering what her nightmares were about. Wondering what her life had been like before here. Wondering if she'd ever speak and tell me her story or if she'd always be a mystery.

Was that why she looked so exhausted when she arrived. Do the nightmares keep her awake often?

I realized last night that I don't hate her. I just don't understand her. I don't know her. Not yet. But I want to.

"Effie..." I say across the table over the dishes of scrambled eggs and biscuits with gravy, to get her attention. "Can I bring Katniss a plate to her room?"

"Peeta dear, it's impolite for her to eat in her room. She really should come join us." Effie shoots a disgruntled look down the hall in the direction of Katniss' room.

"Ummm... yeah, it is rude." I agree just to pacify her. "But... I'm sure she's hungry. And it wouldn't be forever. Just for a little bit while she gets... uh... used to it here." I say nervously.

I'm not exactly sure why, but I desperately want to feed her. I've always been someone that cares about others.

Dad used to let me take leftover bread from the bakery to the homeless shelter at the end of the day. On days that we took a walk down to a restaurant or to the park, he'd help me package up a few loaves to give to any beggars we saw along the way.

So, maybe it really is that I hate that she hasn't eaten anything in days. That she already looked so starved before she came. That I know she's hungry.

But part of me knows I just want to see her. I want to see how she's doing. I want to look at her pretty face after that terrifying scream I'd heard. I want to know she's okay.

Effie chews her lower lip in thought. Effectively smearing purple lipstick along her upper front teeth.

"Oh alright," she acquiesces, "But Just this once. I won't have her staying hulled up in there forever." I bite back a grin and give Effie a grateful nod before getting up to fix Katniss a plate of food.

I'm nervous and feeling rather awkward as I trudge down the hall to her door. She's so unpredictable that I have no idea what to expect.

I pause only for a moment before giving a little knock. Nothing. I knock louder. Not a sound. I try the glass doorknob, but just as last night, it's locked.

"Hey Katniss..." I call awkwardly through the door. "Umm... I brought you food." Still nothing. "I'm just going to leave it here by your door."

I wait anxiously for a minute longer before placing the plate on the floor and heading back for my room. I stop, silently waiting in the doorway. Watching.

After a long pause there's the soft click of a lock being undone and her door slowly opens. A small olive hand darts out and snatches the plate from the oak floor.

"Hey wait!" I call, racing to her door. She straightens up quickly. Those silver eyes wide and frightened as though I've cornered her after catching her stealing. I raise my hands in a placating gesture to let her know I don't mean any harm.

She stares at me with those piercing mercury eyes and I can't help but fidget under her intense gaze. As I'd expected, the purple rings under her eyes have darkened into bruises from lack of sleep. Her hair is now a matted tangle around her face and her clothes are the same dark sweater and torn leggings she'd worn when she arrived three days ago.

"I just... I wanted to see how you were after last night." I say nervously. Keeping my voice low, so Effie won't hear.

Katniss' eyes narrow at me and her scowl deepens. Her entire body language is defensive and speaks one word.

Why?

My mind can't help but wander back to that pitiful cry I'd heard last night and it's impossible for me to associate the tiny broken sobs with the fierce girl glaring at me now.

"Well... I umm... I heard you last night." I confide quietly. "And I was worried,"

There's a split second where her face breaks in mortified horror and I feel guilty for even mentioning the nightmare. Her jaw drops and her eyes widen to saucers. A pink blush creeps up her neck and fills her olive cheeks.

But almost instantly her features contort with rage.

She dives and I just barely get my hands up before she strikes at my face. Her hand connects with a loud slap against my forearm.

"Hey!" I yell in surprise. "What the...?"

Her sudden attack catches me so off guard that she's able to shove me hard up against the hall wall.

I just stare down at her in shock, her forearm pressing hard into my collarbone. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each furious breath.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hear. I... I wasn't spying." I say shakily.

She lets out a wild guttural growl like a rabid dog before releasing me and turning to her door.

"Katniss, wait. Don't. I'm sorry!"

In one swift movement, she snatches the plate of food from the floor and hurls it at me. It shatters against the wall beside my head.

Effie screams from the kitchen.

Glass shards and scrambled eggs rain down on my shoulder and the floor.

Katniss' door slams and the lock clicks before I can say another word.

* * *

So what do you think?

Are you surprised that Peeta keeps trying to help her even after she keeps lashing out?

What do you think of 12yr old Katniss... and that nightmare?

Thank you so much for reading! And as always let me know what you think!

And stay tuned. The next chapter is A LONG one! Happy 2020!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4– Complete

Surprise! A super long one today... and it's a good one. Definitely my favorite so far.

But the deal for this chapter is... you gotta let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Katniss**

I lay on my bed— no, not my bed, _the_ bed— on top of the fluffy duvet staring at the perfect white ceiling above me. Even the ceiling here reminds me that I'm not at home. No cracks crisscrossing above me. No discolored yellow circles staining the drywall overhead.

It's pristine. But it isn't home.

I listen as Effie screams in the hallway outside my locked door.

According to her shrieks, I'm an ungrateful brat.

She's right. I am ungrateful. I don't appreciate her keeping me one little bit. I resent being here. I didn't ask for this and I certainly didn't want this.

I'd give anything to be at my house. At my home. With my family. With Prim.

_Stop. Quiet. Don't cry._

Effie screams at me to unlock my door "right this instant". She screams for me to "come clean this mess up". She screams about her priceless French china that I'd shattered.

"It was part of a matched set from my trip to Paris!"

I ignore it all.

After several minutes, she finally stops shouting. I hear perfect Peeta tell her quietly that he'll clean up the mess. I roll my eyes at the ceiling.

I curl onto my side and pull my knees to my chest. My hollow belly aches with hunger. I shouldn't have smashed the food. I shouldn't have hit Peeta. Why, oh why, do I keep lashing out at him?

What the hell is wrong with me?

What is it about him that just pushes me over the edge?

No matter. If I keep going like this they'll have to take me away from this place. They won't leave me here forever if I won't come out, if I won't speak, if I won't eat. They'll give in before I will.

I close my eyes and feel myself beginning to drift. But just as sleep begins to take me, a pair of piercing blue eyes appear in my mind and I hear Peeta's concerned words again._ I heard you last night. And I was worried._

My eyes fly open. Suddenly, I'm wide awake again.

I can feel the heat rising into my face, embarrassed that he heard me. When he spoke those words, I knew immediately what he'd heard last night.

I'd had one of my nightmares again. I've been having them for months— seven months to be exact— since my father was killed by a car weaving through the construction zone where he was directing traffic. They hit him half an hour before his shift was scheduled to end. Killed on impact. The driver didn't even stop.

"Probably drunk or high or had a warrant out for their arrest," I heard the police officer tell mama.

Yes, the nightmares are nothing new, but they've gotten so much worse this week. Every time I close my eyes they come right away, like a film waiting to begin as soon as the darkness comes, but they no longer only contain my father. Now they include my mother and sometimes even Prim.

I've woken myself up screaming more nights than I can count. And last night was no acception.

Mama and Prim stopped sharing a room with me right after papa's death because of them. It was lonely at night and always hard waking up alone after a terrifying nightmare, but I understood them needing to be able to sleep. I especially hated scaring Prim with my screams.

Prim. What I wouldn't give to cuddle up in bed with her just one more time.

_Stop. Quiet. Don't cry_.

I pull myself up and move to settle against the wall in the corner of the room.

_No sleeping_.

I can't face the nightmares again.

Not now. Not ever.

—

I spend several hours propped awkwardly against the wall. My tail bone aches every time I move and my left leg falls asleep from sitting cross legged for too long.

I keep nodding off, but every time my head hits my chest I jolt awake again. I dig my finger nails sharply into my wrist as I try my best to stay alert.

But, I must finally really fall asleep, because the sudden loud whir of a drill jolts me awake. I pull myself to my feet confused.

For a moment, I'm not sure where I am or how I got here. As I stare around the large strange room for the sound of the disturbance, it all comes back in a tidal wave of emotions heavy enough to crush me.

The silent house and dark rooms. Mama's blank unseeing eyes. The screaming that I didn't even know was my own. The police lights. Cinna.

A gasping sob escapes my lips before I can stop it. I wrap my arms tightly around my middle. The pain of the memories doubles me over as I take another gasping breath.

_Stop. Quiet. Don't cry._

The ear piercing screech of metal against metal pulls me back from my memories. I slam my hands over my ears as the noise reverberates around the enormous room.

The noise is coming from the hallway right outside my locked door.

I realize what the noise is only a moment before the door knob falls away from the door and lands with a hard thud on the floor. The glass sphere rolling in place.

_Fury_. That's what I feel. Complete and utter rage. I want to pummel something. I want to shatter every stupid figurine on my desk. I want to flip the dresser. I want to burn the whole house to the ground.

I can't even choose to be alone in this stupid house.

All I want is a moment. Just some time to gather myself. Compose myself. I still can't even believe how much my live has changed this week. I've lost everything.

Everything.

I just need to be able to curl up in the dark and mourn. Without curious prying eyes. Without being on stage for these perfect merchants like some freak.

The drill stops its incessant whizzing and the door swings open to reveal stupid pompous Effie and some sort of handyman who is holding the drill.

"There you go ma'am. Piece 'a cake."

"Thank you!" Effie trills as the man disappears out of the doorway. She turns to me and frowns.

"The door stays open!" She says with her arms crossed over her ridiculous sequin top. "And you'll join us for meals."

I respond by sticking my tongue out at her. She lets out a disgruntled huff and her nose flares furiously.

It would almost be amusing to watch her mini-tantrums if it wasn't for how angry I am. I can see the wheels turning in her mind. She is trying to think of a way to make me do what she wants.

But how do you punish someone that has nothing and does nothing. You can't.

I go back to staring at the ceiling above her head.

"Door stays open or I'll take it off it's hinges," she says in a hiss of frustration before she storms down the hall. Her high heels clicking angrily as she retreats.

I hate prissy Effie. I hate perfect Peeta. I hate this house. I hate my life.

—-

Effie announces loudly from the kitchen to the house that she's leaving for work and won't be back until late. Apparently she's going in late today, having spent the morning getting someone to decimate my door.

I roll my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Laying on top of the duvet in the same outfit that I never bothered to take off.

I plan on laying here all day, just like I've been the last three days and nights. The door being open doesn't make any difference to my plans.

Except the open door seems to make a difference to Peeta.

He seems to think it's a welcome invitation. Not five minutes after Effie has made her announcement, Peeta is standing in my doorway holding a brightly colored box of fruit loops.

I roll my eyes again. I wouldn't have expected anything less colorful from the likes of Effie.

I lay back on the mattress and ignore Peeta. He leans against the doorframe and digs around in the box, pulling out a handful and lazily throwing it back into his mouth.

"Want some?" He asks cheerily, as though we are friends. As though I didn't try to smash his face with a plate of food this morning.

I ignore him.

He doesn't seem to mind.

"So I think maybe we got off to a bad start." Peeta says gently from the doorway. I let out a derisive snort, but I find myself looking over at him without meaning to.

His blond curls are damp and curling up around his face from a recent shower— probably washing the scrambled eggs out of his hair. He's wearing a soft looking blue sweater that he's pushed up to his elbows and a pair of dark blue jeans. He looks clean and cared for and loved.

The opposite of what I'm sure I look like in this moment. The thought sends a harsh heat up my neck.

I try to push some of my hair back behind my shoulder, but I'm embarrassed to find that the hair that was woven into a braid four days ago, before my whole life changed forever, has now become a matted tangle around my face.

But more than his clothes, the most striking thing is his eyes. They are the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen. Startling and breath taking with their intensity. And theirs a boyish air about him of confidence and optimism.

I have to look away quickly, feeling my blush climb further up my neck and into my cheeks.

"Do you mind if I come in?" He asks.

I shoot him my best practiced scowl and he chuckles. It's a gentle, light-hearted sound. I like it. I want to hear it again.

"Okay," he says softly, with a sideways smile. "I'll take that as a no,"

I have to look away again. Something about his presence and his warm endearing smile makes me feel uncomfortable. He needs to go away.

"I'll just leave these here," he says. And drops the box of fruit loops by the door, "just in case you change your mind." He gives another crooked smile and he's gone.

And his absence leaves behind a cold empty feeling in me.

I take a deep unsettled breath. He makes me nervous and angry and excited and confused all at once. I don't think I like it.

—

But Peeta continues dropping off food at my door throughout the day. A jar of peanuts he finds in the pantry. A little bag of chocolates that he said Effie hides on top of the fridge. A bag of some kind of flavored chips he says I "absolutely have to try". He even fixes me a thick turkey and cheddar sandwich and some soup for lunch.

He places the bowl and plate right inside my door alongside the growing collection of food he's left since breakfast. But, instead of retreating, like he's done after placing the other snacks inside the doorway, he settles himself on the floor and leans against the threshold.

"Want to join me?" He calls to me as he takes a generous bite of a sandwich he'd brought for himself. "Mmmmm..." he says enthusiastically. "Oh... this is good!" I have to bite back a smile at his ridiculous antics. He must see my resolve breaking because he says, "no, seriously! Effie buys the good stuff. Out of the deli. None of those pre-packaged meats. Soooo much better!" He takes another bite and I force myself back to stern disinterest.

"Suit yourself!" He says with a shrug as he continues eating.

There's something about Peeta's continued attempts to coax me into eating that is very endearing. I can't remember the last time someone cooked me anything— the last time someone cared if I was fed or taken care of. Certainly since before my father's death.

My constant refusal to try the foods Peeta brings doesn't seem to deter him in the slightest. If anything it makes him more determined to break me.

In the afternoon, I hear him clanging around the kitchen for a long time. I'm curious what he's making now, but I force myself to remain in my room. I'm sure I'll know soon enough. I imagine whatever it is he'll bring me some. The thought sends a tiny thrill through me that I quickly have to stamp down.

We are not friends. I do not like him. He is merchant. I am Seam. We can't be friends. We are not the same. I am not here for friends.

But as I lay with my eyes closed listening to Peeta's movements, I get a tiny whiff of a scent. A smell, both oddly familiar and distinctly foreign at the same time. I reach around in my memory and the closest I can come up with is pizza. Maybe cheese pizza. I recognize the scent of warm melty cheese and dough. But it's not quite pizza.

My mouth salivates of its own accord and my stomach gives a loud, painful rumble. I curl onto my side and bury my face into the pillow to block out the enticing smells. I wrap my arms about me and cling tightly to my belly, trying to calm the raging ache that began as soon as I smelled the food.

A soft knock on the open door jolts me out of my pillow, but Peeta breaks his own rule and takes a few tentative steps into the room.

Peeta's watching me with a look of deep concern on his boyish face and I can feel my face darkening again in shame.

_He'd seen me curled on the bed clinging to my stomach._

I chew my lip nervously and stare at my lap. Unable to meet his eyes as the raging blush fills my face.

"I made you something." He says cautiously, holding out a plate with large round rolls the size of softballs.

I glance at him curiously as he takes a few more steps towards me. He places the plate and a large glass of water on the nightstand beside the bed and backs away quickly.

The smell of warm yeasty dough and oozing cheddar fills the room. Its intoxicating. The aroma, sitting so close to my place on the bed, is so thick and warm and filling it's making my head spin.

My stomach gives another loud pleading growl that I know Peeta must have heard. I chew my lip harder to keep from drooling in anticipation.

"Try just a nibble," Peeta pleads quietly.

I want to say no. I want to refuse, but this plate of hot rolls, steam billowing up in winding coils, is so overwhelmingly intoxicating that I can't quite remember why I wasn't supposed to eat them to begin with.

I pinch off a tiny piece that burns the tips of my fingers and meet Peeta's eye. He gives a small reassuring nod, his eyes shimmering with anticipation.

I pop the piece of gooey cheese covered bread into my mouth. My eyes close of their own accord.

A loud, embarrassing moan of approval escapes my throat without my permission.

My eyes shoot open and lock onto Peeta. I'm completely mortified, but he is looking at me with an expression of overwhelming awe and pleasure.

My face bakes to a blinding blush and I look away quickly.

"They're good aren't they!" He says happily. "I used to make them at the bakery with my dad. They're called cheese buns. Here, have some more. There's plenty!"

I wish I could refuse after that humiliating noise that I made, but I can't. I take the rest of the roll and eat it piece by delicious piece.

When I look up at Peeta again, he's still standing frozen in the middle of my room. Watching me savor every morsel of the delicious rolls. He looks as though I've just given him the moon and his gaze makes me nervous. I take the plate and hold it out to him.

"No, no," he says quickly. "You keep them. I have plenty more in the kitchen."

I shake my head. He doesn't understand. I want him to eat one too. I take one off the plate and hold it out.

His face breaks into a gorgeous, white toothed smile and my stomach does a funny little flip.

"Want to share?" He asks to be sure, and when I nod he moves to settle at the foot of the bed and splits the roll in half. He gives me back half and we eat in companionable silence.

We eat happily on the next three rolls. Peeta goes and refills the plate with a heaping mound, but I can only manage to eat one more roll before I'm stuffed and feeling a little sick from eating for the first time in almost four days. He tries to coax me to eat another, but I give a low groan and rub my small belly. This is more food then I've eaten in over a week and it's making me feel quite nauseous.

He gives that sweet chuckle and smiles happily at me and I duck my head so he can't see the grin threatening to cross my face.

"I'll save you some for dinner!" He says and climbs out of bed to take the rolls to the kitchen. He pauses at the door and waves to the other snacks "do you want any of this stuff?"

I let out another groan and shake my head as I flop down onto my pillow. Peeta laughs merrily.

"I thought not," he says and gathers all of the food to take with him to the kitchen.

The suns only just barely beginning to set, but with a full belly and so little rest, I find myself drifting off to sleep. I have a vague, unfocused dream of someone pulling a soft throw blanket up over my body and gently pushing the loose hairs off of my face before the darkness takes me under completely.

For the first time in a very long time, I have no dreams.

—

The following morning, I wake to Peeta's light knock on my open bedroom door. He's already holding three cheese buns and has a look of nervous anticipation on his face. Maybe he thinks I've decided I don't like cheese buns over night. Maybe he's expecting me to return to throwing things at him.

I pull myself up in bed and rub my eyes. There's a small fluffy blanket over my legs that I don't recognize. I run my hands over it and admire its softness. It's like petting a rabbit.

"I brought you something," Peeta says nervously.

I give him a cheeky look and he smiles broadly before placing them on the nightstand. He hovers awkwardly for a minute watching me. I think he expects me to snatch a cheese bun up and shove the entire thing in my mouth. After a little pause he says,

"I'm going to go eat breakfast with Effie..." I scowl at Effie's name, "... and I'll be back in just a little bit." I nod and he leaves the room quickly.

I get up and sneak to the bathroom to pee. Afterwards, while I wash my hands, I glance in the mirror and groan aloud at my matted hair and purple circles under my eyes. I'm embarrassed that I had Peeta sitting on my bed so close to me yesterday when I've looked like this all day.

But it didn't seem to bother him at all. I remember the way he smiled that blinding smile when I ate the cheese bun he'd made and my stomach flutters nervously.

I slip back into my room and for the first time since my arrival, dig through my backpack for a new change of clothes. I don't have much— one winter outfit made up of a worn pair of jeans and one long sleeve sweater that has frayed and unraveled in several places. I also have my single set of night clothes— a pair of sleep shorts and a short sleeve shirt. Other than the two outfits I have the clothes I'm wearing, a rolled up ball of socks, one other pair of plain cotton panties that I typically rotate every day, my hair brush and toothbrush.

Before coming I'd had one extra winter outfit and my father's old hunting coat, but the police had taken that as part of their investigation. So, I'm down to two winter outfits and no jacket.

I snatch up some of the clothes and the brushes and slip back down the hall and into the bathroom.

It takes me at least ten minutes to brush out my tangled mess of hair. I'm half tempted to cut it off and forget it all together, but I don't.

I play with the knobs on the shower and brush my teeth while I wait for the water to run warm.

After a few adjustments the temperature is just right and I strip out of my clothes and climb in. The hot water pours down my body and I savor the feel.

I haven't had a hot shower since sometime in June. Our hot water heater went out just a few months after my father died and I didn't know what to do about it. I, of course, couldn't figure out how to fix it and I couldn't afford the cost of a repairman or a new unit. Anyways, a twelve year old buying a hot water heater would have led to funny questions— like where's your mother. I couldn't afford those kinds of questions.

_Not that it made a difference in the end_, I think bitterly.

So instead, I boiled water on the stove so that Prim could have warm baths. I didn't bother for me though. I just took fast, cold showers. It wasn't too bad in the summer, but since around Halloween I'd leap out of the shower shaking and shivering no matter how quick I was.

So, this hot water is pure luxury. And I plan to savor every moment of it until every ounce of hot water has run out.

And I do.

After the hot jets cool to warm and then dip further to tepid, I cut them off and dress quickly, pulling on my cotton panties and a small sports bra.

The bra is entirely unnecessary, but I wear it more out of habit. For a small period of time several months before my twelfth birthday I did begin developing a chest— small, but it was there none the less. But after my father's death and with the struggle to feed myself, Prim, and my mother, the hunger stole the little curves that I had formed. I didn't really care though. I've always been rather unnoticeable— breasts or no breasts.

I slip into my sleep shorts and the oversized forest green sweater. The stretched out collar hangs loosely around my neck and I have to roll the sleeves up to be able to use my hands. My wet hair drips onto my shoulders.

I feel like a whole new person. I'm still hurting. If I think of my mother or Prim I halfway feel like I can't breathe. But the hot shower was so refreshing and it took with it some of the anger I've felt since welfare picked me up.

I wrap a towel around my head and dart back to my bed, where I settle deep in the warm duvet and pull the fuzzy throw up to my chin. It smells oddly of cinnamon. I like it.

I cuddle in deeper while I devour one cheese bun after another. They're delicious and truly impossible to refuse.

Peeta peers in on me just as I'm holding the last cheese bun.

"Hey," he calls from the doorway to grab my attention. I want to scowl at him. I want to hate him. But their's something about Peeta, maybe the gentle way he talks or how caring he is towards people, and it just pulls me in. Hurting Peeta would be like kicking a puppy.

"Wanna play a game?" He asks enthusiastically as he comes in my room and perches on the end of the bed.

I squint at him and wait for him to elaborate.

"I'll tell you something about me but then you have to tell me about you," I scowl hard at him. He lets out that soft chuckle again.

"You don't have to talk. Just yes or no answers." I'm still not sure about this game. Peeta must see my apprehension because he smiles reassuringly.

"My favorite color is orange like the sunset." He smiles fondly, "And yours... hmmm... is it purple?" He asks with a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

I scrunch my nose.

"Pink?" He snorts, trying to keep a straight face.

I mime puking. Peeta bursts out laughing. My stomach does another flip at the glorious sound of it and I find myself watching him as he chuckles. The way his entire face lights up, the twinkle in his piercing blue eyes.

"Your face!" He hoots happily. "Priceless! No, you're definitely not a pink kinda girl" he says with a smile. He reaches out to touch the collar of my over large forest green sweater. His warm fingers brushing against my collarbone sends a delighted shiver down my spine, "this is your favorite." He says. It's not really a question. He says it more like a statement. A certainty.

I glance up and his piercing blue gaze finds mine. Yes, forest green is my favorite— but suddenly right now, looking into those shimmering aqua eyes, I think I might change my favorite color to blue.

I swallow nervously and give him a nod. He smiles triumphantly.

We go on like this for most of the morning. He learns that I hate coffee, but love tea all doctored up with milk or sugar. I learn that he loves tea but just plain unsweetened. I learn that he likes to sleep with the windows open. He learns that I don't like cats. I learn that he wrestles and bakes and draws, but he can't seem to guess what my favorite hobby is. I suppose archery is pretty unique. Especially for a twelve year old girl.

He goes on and on guessing and with each guess I shake my head no.

"I give up!" He groans with a laugh, throwing himself back on my bed. "I think you just don't have any hobbies. I've guessed _everything_."

I tap his arm to get his attention and then mime shooting an arrow. He looks at me puzzled for a moment before a bright smile crosses his face.

"You like to shoot? Like a bow and arrow?" I nod vigorously. Proud that I was able to convey my thoughts without words.

"Wow! That's amazing." He says looking flabbergasted. "Can you show me sometime? I want to see,"

Suddenly, I feel a bit nervous. I twirl my still slightly damp hair shyly around my finger and give a little shrug, successfully pulling another chuckle from Peeta. My heart leaps at the sound.

"That's okay." He says with a shrug of his own, "just if you want to show me one day,"

I like that he doesn't push. I like that he lets me have the final say. It's like yesterday with the food. He took it as a personal challenge to get me to eat, but he never demanded anything of me. He just offered and then let me decide what I wanted to do.

After this week of feeling so out of control— having my entire world turned upside down in an instant— it's nice to be able to make decisions about something. Anything. Lately, I've felt like the only thing I can control at all in my life is my choice to eat and speak. But Peeta makes me feel more grounded. Like I have more options. More say in how my story goes.

I really like it a lot.

Peeta lays back onto the bed to continue our game, but suddenly, I notice something small and black across his forehead where his bangs have fallen off to the side. Without thinking I reach out and move his hair so I can see better. Beneath them my fingers catch on the rough black threads of a long row of neat stitches.

Peeta freezes, the smile vanishing from his boyish face. He pushes himself up on his elbows so he can see me better. He watches me nervously with those striking blue eyes.

I frown hard at him.

"It's nothing. Really." He murmurs, pulling away from my hand and flattening his bangs out over his forehead. I put on my best challenging stare.

"Really it's nothing," he says quietly, "it's just— well... it's the reason I'm here," he says shortly.

I watch him for a minute more before deciding to drop it. I'm pretty certain he's lost his family like me. Why else would he be here? Maybe he survived some accident that his family didn't. Maybe a car crash?

Yes, that would explain the injury. But, he seems oddly unwilling to talk about it. But then again, I completely understand. I don't want to talk about losing my family either.

I just nod at him and decide to leave it alone.

I try to put every unspoken feeling of understanding and remorse into that nod. I'm not sure what else to do. There's not much else you can do without words and I'm just not ready to talk yet.

I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to talk again.

But, Peeta doesn't let my curiosity about his stitches or his missing family deter our fun. He moves right along with our game. Guessing my favorite season, guessing what month I was born in, guessing my favorite holiday.

Nothing serious. Nothing deep. No talk of family or home.

After quite a while of playing Peeta's guessing game, he disappears to retrieve his drawings and shows them to me. He is so talented. The work is exquisite and unique. He has an eye for seeing things differently and putting them into art.

A flour covered kitchen counter. A fancy cookie display in a shop window. A rolling pin. Cinna's black car pulled up along a curb. The shrubs and little shed in Effie's back yard.

We play another game. Peeta draws as fast as he can and then asks me to guess what it is. I scribble my answers at the top. It's too easy. He's amazing at drawing.

I try to draw something once, but my horse looks more like a camel with the face of a pig. Peeta bursts out laughing and I wack him with the notebook. He hits me with a pillow and I dive on top of him to take the pillow away. He's laughing so hard he can't hold me off and I take advantage of his weakness by pummeling him with the feather pillow.

"Hey, ouch, stop it!" He laughs between feather pillow blows. He finally jerks it from my hands and we both collapse laughing onto the bed.

I don't know when was the last time I laughed like this.

Guilt suddenly washes over me like a bucket of ice water being poured over my head. I sit up quickly and pull away from Peeta, turning my back on him.

_What have I done?_

How did I forget them even for an instant?

"Hey... Katniss," Peeta says sitting up quickly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I pull away from him quickly. My heart beating in my ears. The weight of guilt in my stomach is so painful that for a moment I think I may throw up.

I forgot them. I forgot them all.

I'm not supposed to be happy. I'm not supposed to have fun. Not with them gone.

I wrap my arms around my middle to fight the nausea as my heart thrums a deafening rhythm in my ears. I can't seem to catch my breath. I let out a gasping pant as the anxiety and remorse comes rolling over me. The lump in my throat is suffocating.

Is this what a heart attack feels like?

Is this what it feels like to die. Panting for your last breath as your heart beats out of control.

Peeta gently touches my shoulder, making me jump and I pull further away from him.

"You... you okay?" He asks nervously. I chew the inside of my cheek hard until I taste blood. The metallic zing is startling and brings me back slightly.

I give a little nod, but I can feel Peeta watching me still. I know he's confused about my sudden shift but I can't worry about it right now. I'm too worried that this might be my last breath.

_At least then I could be with my family again._

_Stop that,_ I scold myself firmly, _Prim wouldn't want that_.

Prim. The thought of her makes the weight of my guilt double for even considering death as an option. I can't do that. I can't willingly leave this life behind.

I feel the familiar sting in my eyes and I have to bite the bleeding inside of my cheek hard.

_Stop. Quiet. Don't cry._

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peeta asks gently from behind me. I shake my head before I ever really consider it.

No. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I wish I could forget.

But forgetting brings guilt.

Peeta touches my wrist gently and the soft feeling of his warm fingers against my arm startles me. I should pull away. But I really don't want to.

"That's okay." Peeta says gently, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "I ummm... well, just... thanks for spending the morning with me. It's been pretty... uhhh... lonely here. It's nice having someone to spend time with."

I look around at him and see him looking at me with such sincerity that it eases some of the guilt in my chest a bit.

Maybe Cinna was right. Maybe Peeta is hurting too. Maybe he's just better at hiding it than me.

* * *

To all my awesome reviewers, THANK YOU! I love hearing from you more than you possibly could know.

And to you phantom readers out there— you just have to tell me what you thought of this one!

So what did you think?

Isn't Peeta just the sweetest?

BTW—I'm sure all of you that are following this noticed the name change. I just wasn't LOVING the "Homeless but not Helpless"... a bit corny. So whatcha think of "Silent Secrets"? I like it better, but I'm not sure if I'm sold on it yet. What's your thoughts?


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